


The Apology

by deadwife



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 03:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20614301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadwife/pseuds/deadwife
Summary: Steve’s been doing his best to ignore Billy Hargrove.





	The Apology

The bruises are starting to fade. All those vivid pinks and plums turn a sickly shade of yellow, like the brittle petals of dried flowers. The first week afterwards, it was a shock to see his own reflection—the bruises were startling and surreal, and the same flash of humiliation, defeat, and fury would strike him again. Now, it’s been almost three weeks, and the cuts on his face are looking more like scars, and he mostly just looks exhausted.

  
Steve’s been doing his best to ignore Billy Hargrove. It seems that Hargrove is doing the same. Steve tries not to even look at him, afraid of what he’ll see on Hargrove’s face when he sees him, afraid of how he’ll feel when he sees Hargrove. But Hawkins High is a small school, and they have three classes together on top of basketball. It’s easy to ignore one another in class and in the halls, but during practice it’s a little harder.

  
Steve tries not to look him in the face, even when he knows Hargrove is looking at him. Surprisingly, Hargrove says nothing to him—no taunts, no remarks. Steve expects them, dreads them, but the silent treatment is almost worse. He wonders if Hargrove pities him, if he’s ridden with guilt, if he’s backing off because of Max, or if he’s simply done tormenting Steve and ready to move on to a new target. Either way, Steve should be relieved.

  
Today at practice, it’s a little different. Hargrove is in his face—not unusual when they’re on opposing teams, but today, he shoulders into Steve with purpose, gets too close when he tries to steal the ball. And Steve can feel his gaze, tries to avoid looking into it, but on instinct his eyes flick up to his opponents’. Hargrove’s eyes are intent, and Steve looks away. Steve manages to score, much to his teams delight.

  
“Nice one, Harrington.” Hargrove says as he passes by without looking at Steve.

  
The following practice is the same. Hargrove knocks into him, puts his hands on him, gets in his face like he’s back to his old antics. It’s harder to concentrate, tense with the anticipation of Hargrove’s intrusion. Steve tries to ignore him, pushes back only a little when he needs to. Hargrove’s skin is feverish and damp when it presses into Steve, and sometimes he gets so close he can smell the boy’s sweat and hairspray.

  
“Come on, Pretty Boy,” Hargrove pants as Steve elbows him away. “You can do better than that.”

  
Steve looks into his face, startled by the sudden remark, and sees amusement looking back. Steve elbows him harder, and scores. He feels Hargrove’s eyes on him, but doesn’t look over.

  
The rest of the team congratulates him in the locker room, Steve thanks them modestly and showers quickly. He heads to his locker to grab his homework, and as he makes his way to his parked car, he sees someone standing there.  
He’s not surprised, but his stomach twists with something.

  
The air is cold even in the blue sunlight as Steve falters, but stalks on over. Winter is just around the corner, and soon Steve will have to pull out his winter jacket from the back of his closet. Hargrove, who leans against the BMW with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, wears only a denim jacket over his t-shirt, as if he’s still in California. Steve thinks he’s probably freezing.

  
“Hey, Harrington,” he quips, as if they’re pals.

“What do you want?” Steve snaps.

“Just wanted to say hi. See how that face of yours is healing up.”

  
“What the fuck is your problem?”

  
Hargrove chuckles, but looks away. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and releases the smoke. “Don’t get bent out of shape. I’m trying to play nice.”

  
Steve says nothing, waits for him to continue. He looks directly at Hargrove, body alive with the threat of his sudden appearance. Steve almost can’t believe the nerve of him to pull something like this. Hargrove smokes his cigarette, looking out over the parking lot as if it’s a real sight to behold.

  
When Hargrove says nothing, Steve pushes. “Well?”

  
Hargrove meets his eye. His eyes flicker across Steve’s face, something odd in his expression, and Steve gets the sense that Hargrove is trying to read him. It gives him a small thrill.

  
“Just… Wanted to say sorry about your face.”

  
“Okay.”

  
A moment of silence passes, during which Hargrove stares just beyond Steve, not at him.

  
“So, we’re cool?” He says after a few moments.

  
Steve isn’t sure what to say, and again is struck by the nerve of the boy. “Did Max make you do this?”

  
His eyes move to Steve’s, and they’re hard. “Max doesn’t make me to anything. I just felt like it, after seeing the damage I did to that pretty face of yours. It’s a real shame.”

  
Steve looks away, jaw tight.

  
Hargrove shrugs one shoulder, almost reconciliatory. “Max likes you. I don’t want her to be pissed at me anymore—she’s a real pain in the ass these days.”

  
Steve nods. “Well, great apology. Now, can you get off my car?”

  
“Listen, man,” He straightens off the car and into Steve’s space. Steve stiffens automatically. Billy Hargrove’s eyes are always like stone, but when Steve looks into them now, they’re earnest. “I was out of line, alright? I just went crazy, went off like a gun or something. I shouldn’t have wailed on you like I did…So.”

  
“Okay.”

  
Hargrove puts his hand out. “Are we cool, then, Harrington?” Still, there’s a hint of a threat in his voice, and Steve mostly just wants to get in his car.

  
“Fine, whatever, man.” He takes Hargrove’s hand and shakes it. He grips Hargrove firm but momentarily, and pulls his hand away. “You can tell Max I forgave you, if that’ll help. Now get off my car.”

  
Billy smirks, eyes heavy and sparkling. “Later, Pretty Boy.” He begins to wander off, but stops to look over his shoulder just as Steve is about to climb into the driver’s seat. “By the way, a warm cloth on those a couple of times a day will work wonders.” He walks away before Steve can think to respond.

  
He takes the advice.


End file.
